


Sweet Dream, Saccharine

by Flufflybunnypants



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Writer Castiel, inappropriate use of Reddi-Whip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-24 07:15:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6145777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flufflybunnypants/pseuds/Flufflybunnypants
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Cas have shared an apartment for three years, but their friendship is soon to be tested by Castiel's insistence on finding terrible pie. Sad pie=Sad Dean=Sad Cas</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Dream, Saccharine

Dean has only just gotten home when Cas pokes his head out of his room to say, “Try the pie on the table. I want your opinion.”

This is not an unusual request; they’ve been playing this game since Dean moved in three years ago. Dean drops his bag and ambles to the kitchen to cut himself a slice of pie. It sorta slumps sideways on his plate, looking as sad as he feels. Dean takes a bite and all he can think is _this is the physical embodiment of disappointment._

He barges into Cas’ room, elbowing the half-open door hard. “Jesus Christ, Cas, what fuckin’ bakery did you get that from?”

Cas frowns at him and picks up his ever-present notepad. “Describe it,” he commands, pointing his pen imperiously at Dean.

“Uh, soggy. Just…” Dean makes a sad noise to try to encompass how tragic that pie is. Cas nods and turns back to his laptop, waving Dean away.

“This gonna help you write the next great American novel?” Dean isn’t surprised that Cas is too distracted to answer. He leaves Cas alone and starts preparations for dinner.

Three days later, Saturday morning, Cas wanders into Dean’s room with a mug of coffee and a plate of pie. “I picked up milk and eggs on my run,” he says, as he passes the food over.  Dean’s in the middle of paying bills in bed (God bless the internet), so he doesn’t pay much attention as he brings the fork to his mouth. **SALT**.

"Yeurghh." Dean washes his mouth out with hot coffee, hoping faintly that the coffee will burn the taste out. He looks up at Cas, who's standing in the doorway in jogging pants, with his sweaty t-shirt in his hands. "Okay, who the hell let that baker into a kitchen? That's a sin. There's enough salt in there to repel the devil himself."

Cas nods and takes the plate, removing the dastardly dessert from Dean's sight.

Dean gulps down more coffee and feels his universe settle. Cas can make coffee and PB&J sandwiches and pretty much nothing else. It’s a good thing Dean likes cooking, or they’d be eating microwaveable dinners and take-out Chinese every night. Cas makes up for it by being supernaturally clean. Dean had initially freaked out about Cas doing his laundry, but when he figured out Cas could get oil and grease out of his coveralls, he willingly let Cas deal with his laundry hamper.

After Cas showers, he doesn’t leave his room again for hours. Dean knows better than to bother him during writing time, so he putters around the house, collecting the mail, tinkering with a dining chair that’s beginning to wobble, making a grocery list. He notes that they’re nearly out of cinnamon, which is kinda weird.

He texts Cas at 5 pm.

5:00 PM >>Food?

5:06 PM <<Corndog

5:08 PM <<pls 

5:08 PM >>Sure

Cas’ food tastes are kinda hilarious. After years of living on his own dubious microwave cooking, he is just as happy with convection oven corndogs as he is with filet mignon. While Dean is toasting the corndog, he tosses some carrot wheels in a pan with butter and brown sugar. If 9-year-old Sammy liked carrot pennies, it’s nearly a given that Cas will enjoy it too.

With the food on a plate and a glass of Cas’ favourite guava juice, Dean knocks on Cas’ door and waits for Cas’ ok. As much as he might pester Cas for details on his published works, he wouldn’t spy on Cas.

Cas smiles at him when he sets the plate on Cas’ old, scarred desk. Dean’s self-appointed job is to feed Cas, because otherwise Cas would get completely lost in his own world and starve to death.

True to form, as soon as Dean is out of sight, Cas returns to peering at his notes. Dean shuts the door behind himself quietly.

Cas’ new preoccupation with pie continues for another month until Dean is conditioned to be vaguely apprehensive at the very sight of pie. Cas insists that Dean’s got a gift for describing experiences and that he _needs_ Dean to capture the feeling of the moment.

Understandably, when Dean’s kicking back on the sofa with a beer, the last thing he wants is bad pie. But it’s Cas, so when he sees those hopeful eyes, he pauses the game and sets down his beer.

“What do we have today?”

“Apple pie.” Cas hands him the plate and a fork.

Dean refrains from groaning at the thought of his favourite pie being mutilated. He doesn’t know why Cas is fixated on visiting the shittiest bakeries in the tri-state area. He’s a tenacious little fucker though, so Dean digs in.

**Holy shit.**

This pie is perfect. Flaky crust, warm filling, and stiff peaks of whipped cream make Dean moan around his mouthful. Cas blushes and refuses to meet Dean’s eyes when Dean mumbles “Sho’ good” as he shoves more in his mouth. “Where’d you find this? I’m going to marry this baker.”

There’s a pregnant pause  and them Cas says, “I made it.”

“What?” Dean cannot have heard that correctly. Cas can’t even heat up tomato soup without it boiling over.

“I’ve been practicing for months.” He nervously wrings his hands.

Dean sets his plate down and stands as a terrible realization washes over him. “Months?”

“I know the first ones were pretty bad, but I’ve been improving…”

“Months. Holy shit, Cas. You mean you took that time to make my favourite dessert, I was a huge fuckin’ asshole about it, and you decided to keep on trying to make me happy?”

“Yes?” Cas’ voice is small and he can barely meet Dean’s eyes.

“Jesus, Cas,” he breathes, before he cups Cas’ cheek with one hand and kisses him. Cas’ hands fist in the front of Dean’s shirt as he tilts his head up for Dean. When Dean pulls back for a breath, all he can say is, “I’m sorry.” Cas stiffens in his arms, so he quickly amends, “Not for this!” He gestures between the two of them. “No, Cas I’m sorry for bein’ a jerk. This is probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me. Hey,” he smiles wickedly, “we got anymore whipped cream?”

“Yes, there’s more. There’s the homemade stuff and then there’s some Reddi-Whip in the fridge door.”

“Perfect.” He leans down to kiss Cas again. “I want to show you how very sorry I am.” Cas opens his mouth to protest, but when Dean continues, “I think covering you with whipped cream and licking it off would be a great start,” the words die unspoken.

Cas nods because he can’t get that image out of his head, can’t imagine anything better.

“Alright, Cas, strip and meet me in my bedroom.”

Dean’s promising growl steals Cas’ breath away and he all but runs to the bedroom.

By the time Dean gets there, Cas is sprawled out on Dean’s sheets like a golden buffet. Dean has to stop for a moment to take in the view. It’s not that he hasn’t seen most of this before. They’ve lived together for three years and they’ve lounged around in boxers more than once. But this is _for_ Dean and somehow that makes all the difference.

He left his t-shirt in the kitchen when he was grabbing the cold Reddi-Whip, but left his jeans as they are.

He clambers on the bed, straddling Cas’ hips. Cas tries to buck up against him, but Dean pins him to the bed.

“C’mon, Cas, we’re gonna take it slow. I’ve got like twelve pies worth of apologies for you.”

Cas makes a complaining noise that melts into laughter when Dean sprays cold whipped cream into the hollow of his collarbone.

Cas is fuckin’ delectable. Dean works his way down with the whipped cream, sucking hickeys into Cas’ pecs and laving his tongue over Cas’ nipples. Cas is almost shaking with need when he begs, “Please…not fair.”

“Promise I’ll make it good, be patient.”

“You’re a fucking tease,” Cas groans, pushing Dean down from where he’s nuzzling Cas’ stomach.

Dean finally moves, but then spends a good minute drawing artistic squiggly lines on Cas’ dick.

“Dean Winchester, so help me god, either suck my dick or I’ll do it myself,” Cas says, eyes screwed shut. Dean laughs, then looks wide-eyed when Cas gives him the squinty what’s-the-joke look.

“You can’t be serious.”

“As fascinating as my personal flexibility may be to you,” Cas grinds out, “It does not solve the problem at hand.”

“You are so showing me that later,” Dean says fervently. He licks a stripe up Cas’ dick and says, “And I’ll help you with your problem. Looks real…hard.” He winks and Cas just fists a hand in Dean’s hair and guides him back down. It takes no time at all for Cas to finish, both hands pulling Dean’s hair until he moans around Cas’ cock.

Cas is gasping for air, trying to slow his heartrate as he comes down. “Shit, Dean,” he gestures for Dean to move up. Dean kisses him slow and dirty, but when he dips his shaky hand into Dean’s pants, all he finds is a wet mess.

“You came in your pants?” Cas is incredulous.

Dean laughs self-deprecatingly. “I promise I’m not a minute man, but this is the first time I’ve gotten off with another person in three years.” Dean grabs a bunch of tissues and uses them to wipe up what he can off of them both.

“Holy fuck that’s so hot.” Cas nuzzles Dean’s freckled cheek and kisses him softly. “Wait, three years?”

“I brought home a one night stand four days after I’d moved in and then I said your name and he literally dumped me out of the bed and left in a huff. I…uh…really haven’t bothered since.”

Cas looks starry-eyed for a moment, then punches Dean’s shoulder. “You mean we could have been doing this for three years?”

“What the fuck, Cas? Not while you were dating Douche-ifer.”

“One, his name is Lucius, not Lucifer, and two, I only dated him to see if you’d get jealous. It was Balthazar’s idea.” Cas says that like it exonerates him.

Dean can only laugh helplessly. “We’re a coupla’ dumbasses, huh?”

“I prefer the word oblivous. Less dumb, less ass.”

“Less ass? Cas, you can’t have had enough of this fabulous ass already.”

“You’re right.” Cas promptly shoves Dean’s jeans and boxers down and grabs a handful of freckly butt. Dean yelps and then blushes. He kicks his pants off the bed and buries his face in the warmth of Cas’ neck.

Of course, Dean can’t catch a fucking break because his jeans start ringing. Well, his phone in the pocket of the jeans starts ringing. It’s Sammy’s ring tone, so Dean levers himself over the side of the bed, dragging the pants closer until he can fish out his cell.

“What’s up, small fry?”

“Shut up, Dean, I’ve been taller for years and you know it.”

“Is this important?”

“Yeah, actually. Has Cas told you anything?”

“Uh…” Dean doesn’t know what angle Sam is going for here and Sam seems to take his silence as a negative.

“I told him if he didn’t tell you, I would. You deserve to know. Cas likes you.”

“I know.” Dean leans back into Cas’ arms and lets Cas press his ear to the phone too.

“No, Dean, like serious feelings.”

“I know.”

“Cas loves you. He’s spent weeks and weeks at my place or mom’s trying to make pie. Take this seriously, Dean!”

“Sammy, you’re my brother and I love you, but I am currently _in flagrante delicto_ with my boyfriend and you’re killing my afterglow.”

“Wait, you slept with him?” Sam sounds shocked.

“I’ll call you later. Bye, Sam.” Dean hangs up and flings the phone across the room into his laundry hamper. He turns in Cas arms to ask, “So, you love me?”

Cas looks panicked, “I know it’s soon but—”

“I love you too, Cas.” Dean cuts him off before he can take it back. “I’ve known it for years.”

Cas blushes beautifully and Dean takes the opportunity to pepper his face with kisses. “Now, tell me all about this baking odyssey you went on.”

“I’ve been borrowing your brother’s kitchen to keep you from being suspicious. And then your mom found out and she’s tried to teach me her tricks.”

“I can’t believe they all kept it a secret.” Dean sighs happily.

There’s a beat and then Cas speaks again. “Uh, on the subject of secrets…” Cas trails off, and Dean is worried. “One moment, please.”

He saunters out of the room, naked as the day he was born, and Dean takes a moment to enjoy the view. He comes back in under the weight of a cardboard box.

“These are…they’re for you.” The box is filled with every book from Dean’s favorite series Wayward Daughters and they all look to be new.

Dean looks up uncomprehendingly at Cas.

“You never…you’ve always given me my space about writing. This is me inviting you into that space. These ones have the real dedication in the front.”

“What the fuck? No way, you’re J. Shurley?” Dean digs in and grabs the first book and pages to the dedication. Except instead of just the small dedication that reads _To new beginnings_ the page is now filled with blue ink describing Cas’ feelings about Dean having moved in. Dean pulls out book after book and there in Cas’ cramped, neat handwriting is a chronology of the last three years they’ve lived together. _To ex-boyfriends who unwittingly write themselves in as villains_ is a stunning treatise on Douche-ifer’s cruelty in contrast to Dean’s kindness. _To my housemate who feeds me_ becomes a litany of praise for a dinner Dean barely remembers cooking but clearly stuck out in Cas’ mind.

“Wow,” Dean says softly.

“It’s not too much, is it?” Cas chews his lower lip.

“No, god, Cas, it’s everything I ever wanted. You’re everything I ever wanted.”

Cas smiles at that and Dean shoves the books aside to kiss him like they have all the time in the world. Dean’s phone rings again, but they ignore it. It’s almost a certainty that Sam has told everyone who needs telling already, but they can deal with that later. Right now, they’ve got a hell of a lot of lost time to catch up on.

**Author's Note:**

> Title obv from Def Leppard's song
> 
> Please tell me about egregious spelling or grammar errors  
> Comments= Dean Winchester licking whipped cream off of you ;)


End file.
